


Nebulas In His Eyes

by watanuki_sama



Series: Shards Of Quantum Glass [16]
Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Aliens, M/M, Psychic-ness, Some mental manipulation, Space AU, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 02:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: Sometimes, when he’s alone, he’ll listen to the rumble of the engines and he’ll think,Something is wrong. Something is out of place.But he can never figure out what it is.





	Nebulas In His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 10.21.19.
> 
> I was on a Firefly-nostalgia kick when I wrote this. Best to read with Firefly-vibes running through your soul.
> 
> PROMPT: Space

_“I believe in aliens. I think it would be way too selfish of us as mankind to believe we are the only lifeforms in the universe.”_   
_—Demi Lovato_

\---

A trickle of unease runs down Travis’s spine, and he whirls around. The hallway is empty, but he isn’t reassured. He slowly pulls his pistol out, scanning the walls. Something is wrong. He can’t see anything outright, the ship is humming merrily away and the walls are clear, but something…

“What are you doing?”

“Wes!” Travis jumps, gun clattering to the floor. “What the hell? Don’t sneak up on me!”

The pilot stands there, looking amused. “You should pay more attention.”

“I pay plenty of attention. You’re just the only one I can’t read.” Travis retrieves his gun and snaps it back into his holster. “Hey Wes, have you…”

Wes raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“This is gonna sound weird, but do you ever feel like something’s wrong? Like there’s something out of place?”

“Well, you spacing out in the hallway is a bit strange.”

“I’m serious.”

Wes studies him, and Travis—(_feels a creeping sensation in the corner of his brain, a gentle tugging, nudging, like fog swirling in his head_)—shifts, feeling suddenly stupid. Of course nothing is wrong. They’re in the middle of space, nothing has happened, everything is fine.

“Never mind,” he mutters, moving up beside the blonde. “Did you come get me for dinner?”

But he glances over his shoulder as he leaves, and he can’t shake his unease

\---

“I don’t remember when you joined the crew.”

Wes stops stirring his coffee-substitute and stares at him. “What?”

Travis frowns, propping his chin on his palm. “I can’t remember when you joined the crew,” he repeats.

Wes gasps, clasping his hand over the right side of his chest. “That hurts, Travis.”

“Your heart’s on the other side, asshole.”

Wes swaps hands. “I bet you remember when everyone else joined.”

“Well, yeah, but they’re prettier than you are.”

That gets him Wes’s stirring stick thrown at his head. “You’re incorrigible.” The pilot drops into a chair and sips his not-quite-coffee. “It was after Paekman. You needed a pilot, and I needed a job.”

Like always, mention of Paekman’s death makes him ache something fierce. He deflects, flippantly saying, “Yeah, well, we all make mistakes.” Wes flips him off, and Travis just laughs.

\---

It comes to him later, like remembering a dream—slow at first, but with odd moments of crystal clarity, like he’s watching a badly edited holovid.

This is how Travis meets Wes:

It’s only a few months after Paekman’s death, when it’s still so raw and hurts _so damn much_. They’re in Havana, the captain looking for a replacement pilot because they’re getting by but they really need someone who _knows_ how to fly, rather than just winging it on tricks they’d picked up on the journey. Travis is spending most of his time planetside in bars, getting drunk and picking fights. He’s just come back from one such fight, in fact, and is getting a gash on his skull stitched up by Jonelle when he hears voices.

“And this is the infirmary,” the captain says, and Travis looks up and sees a stunning blonde with sharp blue eyes, as out of place on this ship as a dolphin.

“This is Jonelle Coppola, our medic,” the captain introduces; Jonelle grunts absently, focused on Travis’s head. “And this is Travis Marks. Guys, this is Wes Mitchell, he’s interested in the pilot position.”

Travis is caught by those blue eyes, infinitely endless and full of mystery, like space so high over their heads.

“What do you do?” Wes asks.

“Public relations,” Travis says with an easy grin, and he extends his mind outward, stretching towards Wes, tendrils of thought skimming under Wes’s skin and finding—

_(space, an endless, glittering expanse, and Travis watches stars die in fiery explosions and galaxies being born in great swathes of color and it’s amazing and he’s so small, he can feel himself falling apart—_

_You shouldn’t be here, a voice says, and he—)_

He blinks and finds Jonelle glaring down at him. He blinks again. “Wha?”

“You passed out, moron.” She grabs him under the arm and hauls him upright with more strength than her wiry frame suggests. “If I’m stitching up your head, stupid, don’t make any sudden moves!”

Wes and the captain are still in the doorway, and Wes is watching him, face carefully bland. “Are you alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Uh…yeah. Fine.” Travis frowns—it feels like he’s missing something, like…like he just _forgot_ something vitally important. He mentally reaches out to the man in the doorway, a quick check on the newcomer. He’s rebuffed, bouncing off a wall in Wes’s mind. That’s strange, he could have thought…

“Shall we continue?” the captain asks, leading Wes down the hall, and Travis watches them go.

\---

He walks in halfway through the alien debate. Kendall believes fiercely, of course, but Kate and Amy are more skeptical. “If there are aliens out there, why haven’t we found any?” Amy asks. “Humans have colonized hundreds of planets, and we’ve found nothing smarter than an earth chicken on any of them.”

“Maybe they’re scared,” Kendall argues. “Or maybe to them, _we’re_ like chickens. But the odds of us being the only sentient species in _all_ the universe is so astronomical it’s laughable.”

“What do you think, Travis?” Kate asks.

Travis grabs a protein bar and shrugs. “I dunno. We’ve got Wes. Isn’t that proof enough?”

He doesn’t know why he says that. He certainly didn’t mean to. The girls look just as surprised as he does, and then Kate and Amy snicker and Kendall throws a napkin at him, saying, “That’s rude, Travis. Wes is gonna be annoyed when he hears that,” and Travis laughs it off.

\---

Travis learns not to go to Wes’s quarters looking for him. The man doesn’t keep normal hours—he hardly ever seems to sleep, in fact, and he’s rarely anywhere but the bridge. Travis goes there, now, sliding on stockinged feet on the near-silent ship. Night shift has started, so everyone else is asleep, but Wes, Wes will be awake.

Sure enough, the bridge’s lights are on and he can hear…music? He pauses in the hall, listening. It’s full of high, repeating tones and sonorous chimes, with heavy drumming and odd spots of static and dead space interspersed within. It’s soothing—Travis feels a bit like he’s floating weightless, the universe open before him.

The sound stops suddenly, and Travis snaps back to awareness. He feels himself flush, and he’s glad no one is around to see him spacing out like that.

“Travis?” Wes calls.

Shaking his head, Travis steps onto the bridge “Hey, baby. You coming to bed soon?”

“In a minute.” Wes waves a hand at him. “I have a few more things to finish up here.”

“Alright.” He turns to go, then pauses. “Hey, I liked your music.”

“Music?” Wes asks blankly.

“You know. With the chimes and…static and shit. I don’t know. It was pretty.”

“Oh. Of course.” Wes’s eyes crinkle up at the corners, the way he does when he’s laughing at someone. (Travis missed the joke). “Thank you.”

Travis waits, but Wes doesn’t offer anything else. “Okay then. See you soon.” He grins and leaves the bridge; halfway down the hall, the weird music starts up again. 

He’s almost drifted off when the bed dips. He tenses, then relaxes when a familiar arm wraps around his waist. “Go to sleep, Travis,” Wes whispers, pressing a dry kiss to the back of his neck. Sighing softly, Travis twines their fingers together and drifts away, floating in space on music like chimes and white noise.

\---

Everyone knows they’re sleeping together. On a ship this size, it’s impossible to keep secrets like that. But the crew is family and while they get a lot of teasing, Travis knows the others are okay with it.

He never meant it to get like this. It started out as just a thing between two crewmates who were attracted to each other, a way to blow off steam. Sure, Travis was a little curious about whether Wes’s walls would drop during sex and he’d be able to read him (Answer: they don’t and he can’t) but mostly it was just release.

But then it became something more, something deeper, so quickly Travis couldn’t have stopped it if he’d tried. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Being with Wes is different than anything he’s ever known, and if Travis had a chance to go back to the way it was, before he knew Wes, he wouldn’t want it.

They’ve never said they love each other, but Travis can feel it every time Wes touches him, and he’s sure Wes knows it too.

\---

Travis takes his first breath of fresh air in six weeks and feels a grin spread over his face. “Oh, this is great. You coming?” he calls over his shoulder.

Wes pauses, hand raised in farewell, and blinks. “Me?”

“Don’t be stupid, Marks,” Jonelle snaps, striding past him. “Wes doesn’t leave the ship. You know that.”

“Because of the crowds,” Amy adds helpfully when he draws a blank.

Right. Wes doesn’t like crowds. Travis can understand that; he had a hard time with crowds too, when his powers first manifested. Too many emotions, too many thoughts, all pressing down on him, drowning him in his own skull until he was screaming from the overload. Because Wes is—

_(it’s like a fog creeps into his ears, static filling his brain)_

Not that it’s like that for Wes, of course. But Travis understands.

He flashes a grin Wes’s way. “I’ll bring you back something pretty.”

Wes rolls his eyes and heads inside, and Travis descends the gangplank laughing, feeling good.

\---

Travis grew up on a space station, abandoned by a mother who left and never came back. He spent the majority of his formative years working around the station and taking rides with local captains who didn’t mind a pair of extra hands helping out, no matter how small. He visited some nearby planets, but he never understood the appeal. The ground was pretty, but there was freedom in space, not tethered to anything as paltry as _gravity_. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to live anchored to the ground when they could _fly_.

Sometimes, he would stare out the window at the sparkling stars and imagine visiting all of them.

He wondered what else lived among the stars, and what it would be like to meet them.

\---

Travis was sixteen when his powers manifested, a psychic shock that put him in a catatonic stupor for a week while his brain tried to adjust to the new input. When he came out of it, even one other person was too much exposure—he could _feel_ everything, could hear them _in his head_, even though walls. More than five people threatened to send him right back inside his own skull. Eventually, he acclimated. It was either that, or live in a far corner of the galaxy, alone and friendless.

Now he’s learned, and he can control it. He only uses his power for the good of the ship—after all, it’s pretty handy knowing if potential business partners are going to do what they say they will or if they’re going to betray them at the first opportunity. And he vets every new crew member, just to make sure they’re decent folks, but other than that, he keeps his thoughts to himself and his mouth shut about anything he picks up accidentally from his crew.

He’s only met three people he couldn’t read. The first was a man who’d been shot in the head. His heart was still beating, but his mind was gone, dead in all but name. The second was a girl with similar powers as his, who had learned like he did how to block other people unless she wanted to hear them. She was the only other person he’s ever met like him, and they had an amazing connection, both physical and mental, until he had to go. The next time the ship made it to that planet, she was gone, and he never found her again.

The third person is Wes.

\---

“It’s weird,” he murmurs into the dark one night, once he thinks Wes is asleep. “Sometimes it’s like you hardly exist at all. And sometimes it’s like you’re the only thing that’s actually real.”

He doesn’t get a response, but Wes tightens his arms a little, and Travis holds him close, not sure if he needs to be tethered down or if he just wants to make sure Wes doesn’t float away.

\---

Sometimes, when he’s alone, he’ll listen to the rumble of the engines and he’ll think, _Something is wrong. Something is out of place._

But he can never figure out what it is.

\---

_Found this for you,_ his sister writes. _It’s supposed to block outside mental influences. Maybe it’ll give you a moment of peace._

Travis smiles as he opens the box, picking up the cloth-wrapped trinket. She _found_ it, which probably means some shyster sold it to her at a bazaar and claimed it was some far-off treasure, but it’s awfully sweet she was thinking of him. He pulls the cloth away, chuckles at the ugly beaten-metal pendant, and picks it up—

Everything goes silent, a white noise in the background of his brain shutting off like a switch has been flipped. Things that shouldn’t have been there vanish, and Travis can feel the color drain from his face.

He leaps to his feet, shoves the pendant in his pocket, and grabs his gun.

\---

Everyone is shouting, the words ringing off the cargo bay walls. Kate and Amy have their guns out, pointed at the floor, and Jonelle and Kendall are hanging back, looking in equal terms worried and scared. The captain has his empty hands out in front of him, voice soothing, like he’s trying to talk down a wild animal.

Travis stands in the middle of the cargo bay, finger on the trigger, the barrel pointed straight at Wes. Wes…Wes looks unruffled, standing there calmly with nothing more than faint bemusement on his face as he studies Travis.

“Who are you?” Travis demands that unblinking gaze.

“It’s Wes!” Cap says, inching closer. “It’s just Wes, Marks. If you have a problem with him, we can talk about it, you don’t point your gun at crew.”

“He’s not crew,” Travis snaps, “He’s not _anything_.” And maybe that’s the worst part, that none of it meant _anything_. Travis was—

No. He’s not going to go there right now.

“Marks,” Cap cautions, and Travis can see Kate and Amy moving around, flanking him. If he doesn’t get the captain on his side, they’re gonna jump him and toss him in the brig until they reach the next planet.

“Here,” Travis says quickly, thrusting his hand out, the chain of his sister’s amulet dangling down. He doesn’t take his eyes off Wes. “I need you to touch this.” He has no idea if the pendant will work for Cap the way it does for him, but he has to hope, because otherwise he’s gonna be locked up and Wes will have free reign. Travis can’t let that happen. Not until he knows…

“Marks…” Cap says.

“Captain, _please_. If nothing happens, I’ll let you lock me up.” He’ll shoot Wes first, just to be on the safe side, but he doesn’t let on that part of the plan.

The captain sighs, but he gives in, gingerly reaching out to take the little amulet from him. Travis holds his breath, gun not wavering, and Wes just stares at him, face a blank, bemused mask.

“Kate, Amy,” Cap says calmly, “could you come touch this, please?” And Travis lets out a breath.

The two women come up, and then they snap their guns in Wes’s direction.

“What is going _on?”_ Jonelle demands.

“Later,” Cap tells her. He stares at Wes, a cold fury lining his face, so reminiscent of the old captain, before Cap found his zen, that Travis half expects Paekman to be standing at his side. The captain draws to his full height, demanding, “Who are you?”

Wes says nothing, gaze leveled at Travis. Knowing what the captain is going to ask next—or maybe just needing to know for himself—Travis takes a slow breath and reaches out with his mind.

It’s cold, is the first thing he notices, cold and endless and—and _alien_. He’s been on a lot of alien planets, but they’ve all been terraformed, reshaped into something familiar, something _human_. This is about as far from human as he’s ever know. This has never _been_ human.

The second thing he notices is the soft, warm presence surrounding him, so familiar he can’t help but relax. He may not know the mind of the thing in front of him, but he knows Wes, so when Wes whispers to him, _Open your eyes,_ he does.

Galaxies move before him, spinning endlessly, stars scattered in the void like diamonds. Travis saw diamonds once, and none of them ever shone so bright. Then they’re moving, falling into the center of that glittering whirlpool, and Travis watches nebulas swirl, planets form and stars explode. He reaches out, trails his fingers through the icy cold tail of a passing comet, and wonders, _What is all this?_

Wes’s answer, when it comes, is both amused and sad.

_Me._

He jerks back, gasping for air, the cargo hold forming around him. Jonelle and Kendall rush forward, catch him as his knees buckle; he doesn’t sink to the floor, but it’s a near thing.

It felt like he was gone half an eternity, but nobody’s moved, so it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

“Well?” the captain asks.

Travis stares at Wes, breath getting under control but heart still racing. “What are you?” he asks, a whisper loud as a gunshot in the silent hold.

Wes tilts his head and blinks, and stars dance in his eyes.

\---

“I don’t know that I’m totally surprised,” Jonelle says, once they’ve locked Wes in the brig and Travis has explained what happened when he touched Wes’s mind. Jonelle and Kendall have both touched the amulet and had Wes’s influence cleared away—unlike the rest of the crew, those two women seem more intrigued than upset. The differences between scientists and warriors, Travis supposes.

The medic taps her fingers on the table. “I mean, it’s arrogant to assume we’re the only intelligent, sapient life on all of the planets we’ve settled. Just because they haven’t made contact doesn’t mean they’re not out there.”

“They’ve made contact now,” Kendall says. Like Jonelle, she’s excited, eyes lit up with delight at the concept of _actual alien contact_.

The rest of the crew isn’t as charitable or excited. Grimly, Kate demands, “_Why_ have they made contact now? What do they want?”

“Why on my ship?” the captain asks. Travis understands his fear. The ship is home; the crew is family. That Wes was able to infiltrate and get so close, close enough to put everyone at risk—

_hands gliding over flesh, mouth whispering endearments over his skin_

Travis grits his teeth, digging his nails into his arm. The pain shoves the memories aside, helps him focus on the present.

(He hates that _that_ was real, that it wasn’t one of the memories implanted inside his head. Because if _that_ was real, if all of _them_ was real, then…how is he supposed to interpret that? How is he supposed to feel?)

“How long has he been here?” Amy wonders. “I can’t tell which memories are real and which ones he stuck in my head.”

That startles Travis a little—he has no trouble distinguishing real memories from false. Just one more way he’s so spectacularly _different_.

“It was after Paekman,” he tells them, glad his voice is so calm and professional. “He didn’t come here until after Paekman died.”

He gets a few odd looks. They seem to believe him well enough, but he wonders what else they’re thinking. He could find out, of course, but not only is that rude, he’s almost afraid to learn what’s running through their minds. He was _sleeping_ with Wes, but he had no idea the truth. It doesn’t inspire a great deal of trust.

They let it settle, though. Kate huffs, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “What does he _want?”_ she asks again, but then they look to Travis, all he can do is shrug. He doesn’t have an answer any more than they do.

Any runs her hand over her face with a sigh. “So what are we going to do?”

“I say we shoot him,” Kate offers.

That brings protest from Jonelle and Kendall. “Think of what we could learn!” Kendall shouts, while Jonelle snaps, “He’s an _alien_, we can’t just _shoot_ him!”

Cap whistles sharply for attention. “For now, we’ll keep on our course,” he says, looking at everyone in turn. “I want limited contact with the alien. Anyone who goes near the brig needs to be carrying Travis’s amulet. I don’t want to give him a chance to compromise any of us.”

There’s agreement all around, more reluctant from Kendall and Jonelle. Travis just nods shortly, and when the captain dismisses them, he’s the first out of the room.

\---

_Angel’s Flight_ is never silent; a silent ship is a dead ship. There’s always the hum of the engines, the gentle whooshing of the ventilation system. But at night, when everyone is asleep, it’s as quiet as it ever gets.

It’s strange to be up this time of night, heading towards the brig instead of the bridge. How had he never noticed that Wes didn’t sleep? He’d lay with Travis, but otherwise he always seemed to be on the bridge, making comments about surviving on catnaps, which is so much more efficient Travis, you should try it sometime instead of sleeping ten hours a night.

He shakes his head, fingers running over the wall, and turns the corner to the brig.

Wes looks up, wary until he sees who it is, and then his face softens, relaxes. “Travis,” he murmurs, in a tone Travis has heard a thousand times, in a thousand private moments between the two of them.

He grips the wall for support, questions crowding his tongue, but only one really matters.

“Was any of it real?”

Wes sighs, shoulders slumping. “Would you believe anything I told you?”

Travis clenches his jaw and turns away. He doesn’t know why he came. He wanted…he wanted Wes to say it was all true, beg for forgiveness and explain everything. Or, alternately, he wanted Wes to say it was all a lie, just a plot to get closer to the crew, to get closer to _him_.

He just wanted to stop wondering.

But Wes has a point. Travis isn’t sure he’d believe anything he heard.

He doesn’t sleep well that night.

\---

Travis makes it to the bridge at the same time as the captain. Kendall, manning the wheel this shift, spins to face them. “It started five minutes ago. I can’t make heads or tails of it, and there’s no originating number, but it’s definitely for us.”

She flips a switch on the console, and sounds fill the bridge. It’s almost like music, chimes and strident, repeating tones, cut by heavy thumps and shocks of white noise.

“It’s for Wes,” he says, making both of them stare at him. “I’ve heard something similar before. This is a message for Wes.”

The captain looks at him and asks, “Should we let him hear it?” and woah, wait, when did Travis become the leading expert on alien invaders?

_Probably when you started sleeping with him,_ his brain snarks at him. _Or maybe it’s because you’re kind of psychic. Does it really matter?_

They’re still looking at him. Travis thinks about it. “He hasn’t harmed us,” he says slowly, “and I think if he was going to, he’d have done it when we found him out.” He reaches into his pocket, turning the amulet in his fingers, and exhales. “I trust him.”

The captain nods and turns to Kendall. “Alright, make it happen.”

\---

Wes listens to the message in stony silence, staring into thin air. Travis cuts the sound off, studying Wes’s pale face in concern. “I take it it’s not good?”

The blonde looks up, panic briefly crossing his face. “No. No, it’s not good at all.” He rises to his feet. “I have to go.”

“Go?” Travis lunges forward, clutching the bars on the door. “Go where? Wes, what’s going on?”

“I can’t explain right now.” Wes crosses the brig, wraps his hands around Travis’s, and those stars are in his eyes again. “It’ll be okay, Travis. I promise.”

Travis doesn’t like the sound of that, but before he can say a word, Wes dissolves in front of him, turning into a glittering haze of light that blinks once at him before disappearing completely.

\---

“So he could have just…left at any time?” the captain asks.

Travis picks at the table and replies dully, “Looks like.”

“But why now?” Kendall wonders. “What was in that message?”

Theories and speculations fly across the table. Travis doesn’t participate, barely listening, but they’re tossing Wes’s name around and there’s only so much of that he can take.

He stands abruptly, chair scraping across the floor, and they all go quiet. “Does it matter? He’s gone now. It’s not our problem anymore.”

Someone calls his name as he turns and stomps out, but no one follows him. In a way, that just ticks him off more.

\---

He’s in a foul mood for two days, stomping around the ship with a scowl on his face. The rest of the crew gives him space, avoids him. He avoids them in turn. It works out well enough until he bumps into Jonelle and snaps, kicking a crate halfway across the hold.

The captain pulls him aside before Jonelle can eviscerate him, gives him a good shake. “Get yourself together, Marks,” he orders. “We’ll be at Runningsun in three days. When we get there, you can do whatever the hell you want, but until then, cool it!”

It makes him realize how terrible he’s been. He apologizes to Cap, apologizes to Jonelle (from the doorway of the infirmary, he’s not that stupid), then goes and locks himself in his bunk.

By the time he falls asleep, he’s still not sure he’s worked anything out.

\---

The bed dips and Travis is reaching for his pistol before he even opens his eyes. Then an arm wraps around his waist, and he relaxes, leaning into the body at his back. He rests his hand on the arm around him, and he doesn’t open his eyes. That would make the dream end far too soon.

Wes exhales softly, breath tickling the back of his neck. “We were researchers,” Wes whispers, barely audible over the thrum of the engines.

“Researching what?”

“You.” Wes shifts his arm, runs his fingers over the back of Travis’s forearm. “Your kind. You were…so strange. When we saw you in our skies, our stars, we didn’t know what you were. We didn’t know how you would react if we showed ourselves. So we formed research teams.”

He pauses here. For once, Travis doesn’t push for more, just lets Wes gather his thoughts.

Wes sighs, pressing his forehead against the curve of Travis’s spine. “We took human form and we infiltrated various planets, different walks of life. We made homes with you and yours, to better understand these aliens among us.”

It’s funny, to think of _humans_ as the aliens. “Aren’t you telepathic? Couldn’t you just…look in our minds and find out what you wanted to know?”

Wes’s arms tighten a little. “Your kind, you think differently. You feel emotions in such a foreign manner. Observation wasn’t enough. We had to _become_ you, as close as would could, or we would never understand.” A shudder runs through him, and his arms tighten around Travis again. “But the way you _feel_, so deeply, it’s…invigorating. _Intoxicating_.” Another soft exhale, and dry lips press against the skin above Travis’s shirt. “What we had, Travis, what I felt…it was different than the way you feel it, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t _real_.”

The urge to turn over and see Wes’s face is overwhelming. Travis fights to stay still. “Why did you leave?”

Another long silence, Wes finding the right words. “Some of us were in bad places, terrible places. Surrounded by anger, hate, fear… we didn’t know what that would do to us until it was too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you, your emotions are intoxicating. Addicting. Extended exposure makes us crave more of the same.”

Travis’s eyes snap open, horror turning him cold. “But you’re telepathic. You can influence humans so _easily_.” He saw it on the ship, didn’t he, so may little things he never would have noticed without the amulet his sister sent him, and he’s _psychic_. No one else would have a chance at spotting it.

“Yes.” A flurry of gentle kisses crosses the knobs of Travis’s spine. “We need to stop them before they can cause any more harm.”

Travis doesn’t ask what happened. He gives in to the urge, rolling around and staring into Wes’s eyes. “What about you?”

Wes smiles, infinitely sad, and traces the line of his jaw with a fingertip. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

“That’s not what I—”

Familiar lips cover his own, swallowing his words. Wes’s hands cup the side of his face, drawing him in, and Travis tries to keep his eyes open, but he falls into it, eyelids sliding shut as he drinks in the familiar taste—

And then it’s gone, with nothing more than a whispered promise left behind. _“I’ll protect you.”_

When he opens his eyes, he’s alone in his bed, and he’s so very scared for Wes.

\---

The only warning he gets is a shiver of fear that runs down his spine before full-blown _terror_ grasps his heart tight. Travis thrusts his hand into his pocket, clutching the amulet his sister sent him, and the fear dissipates—for him. Someone on the ship is screaming, and he can hear fighting, shouting, sobbing.

Fear, anger, hate—a psychic attack his crew is powerless to stop. And there’s nothing he can do to help.

Travis ducks into the nearest room, locking the door behind him. He sets himself cross-legged on the floor, amulet clutched between his fingers, and closes his eyes. He breathes, slow and deep, and slowly expands his senses. Just like a business deal, just like reaching out to touch another person’s mind, except on a much grander scale. He can feel the others on the ship, feel the unnatural streams of emotion manipulating his people, and he follows them out of the ship, beyond metal walls into the cold reaches of space

A battle is raging. He can’t make sense of it at first, until he realizes he shouldn’t be looking with the mental equivalent of his eyes. It’s still very nearly impossible to make out even then—these beings are alien in every sense of the world, and Wes wasn’t lying when he said their kind experiences the world differently. But it’s a little easier after a moment.

As far as he can make out, there are four bad guys and only two good guys. With these kinds of odds, the good guys are, sadly but not surprisingly, failing.

He knows which one is Wes, can tell by the form of his—god, there aren’t the right words, no one ever needed to explain this sort of thing because it was simply never _imaginable_. Travis just _knows_ which one is Wes, which one _feels_ like Wes, and he keeps an eye on him. There’s nothing more Travis would like to do than jump in and help, but he’s not equipped to fight his battle.

Then one of the bad guys scores a direct hit that goes right through Wes, makes him falter, and Travis’s temper flares. He doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, just lashes out, throwing all of his anger and fear at the one that attacked Wes.

No one is more surprised than him when it actually seems to damage the bad guy.

_Travis?_ Wes moves over to him, surrounds him. _You need to get out of here._

_No way in hell._

_It’s dangerous._ Funny how some things translate, like Wes’s annoyed frustration that Travis just won’t listen. _It’s okay._

_It definitely is not, you big liar. You’re totally outnumbered and outgunned, and don’t think I don’t notice you shielding me. Let’s get this clear now, you’re not allowed to die for me._

Wes sighs, and Travis can practically see the scowl that would be on his face, if he had one right now. _It’s not your fight._

_It became my fight the second they attacked my ship._ He rushes on before Wes can say anything. _Wes, let me help. You saw what I did to the big one. I can help you!_

_It might be our only chance,_ the second good alien says (only not really, none of this is exactly words, Travis just knows what it’s supposed to mean. Man, this alien stuff is weirdly cool, in a freaky sort of way).

_I don’t want you/him hurt,_ Wes says stiffly, but Travis can hear the fear under the words. It warms him.

He reaches out, wraps himself around Wes, the closest approximation of a hug he can give. _Then don’t lose._

There’s a momentary pause, and Travis can hear Wes and the second alien communicating, a language Travis can’t even begin to comprehend. He waits.

Finally, Wes sighs. _This isn’t going to be pleasant._

_Do what you have to._

Sharp hooks drive into the middle of him. Travis can feel himself being torn apart; he screams. Dimly, he’s aware of Wes murmuring something, barely audible, but one phrase stands out, repeated over and over.

_I’m sorry I love you I’m sorry I love you I love you I love you_

Travis is torn apart, and he goes supernova.

\---

It’s cold.

He can see stars.

He spins through the void in pieces, falling apart with every rotation.

It’s beautiful out here.

\---

When he’s aware again, the first thing he feels is his body, a claustrophobic weight surrounding him, holding him down. He chokes, bucking, seizing, and tries to flee to that endless expanse where he was weightless and free.

_No, Travis, no._ Hands hold him down and tendrils of light grab him, anchoring him fast. _It’s okay. Everything’s okay._

He clings to that presence, familiar and warm in ways he can’t describe. _Wes?_

_That’s right. It’s going to be okay._ Gently, slowly, Wes pulls him back towards his body. _Come with me?_

Because it’s Wes, he goes.

\---

“These emotions of theirs are so powerful. So _dangerous_.”

A soft sigh, and the rustle of cloth. “I know.”

Two voices. Wes’s, and a woman’s, not one of the crew. But Wes doesn’t sound afraid or upset, so Travis doesn’t mind.

Wes just sort of sounds _tired_.

“We can’t stay any longer,” the woman says. “We can’t expose ourselves to them anymore. You saw what happened to Crowl. Imagine that happening to _everyone_. We have to sever all ties, completely.”

Another sigh, despondent and weary. “I know.”

She pauses. “If you can’t do it, I could—”

“_Alex_. I _know_. Just…give me a minute.”

“I’m sorry.” She sounds it, too, but it’s somehow not enough. “I’ll be outside.”

Travis wants to scream, wants to leap up and grab Wes and never let him go, shield him from the woman’s words. He doesn’t know what she wants, but it’s not good. It can’t be, to put that hopeless, scared note in Wes’s voice

But he can’t. His body is too heavy, unresponsive. He can’t even open his eyes.

Dry lips press against his forehead, and long fingers touch his temples. “I’m sorry,” Wes whispers, and, “I love you.”

_Don’t!_ Travis tries to cry, but nothing comes out. _Wes, don’t!_

A fog rolls through his brain and steals him away

\---

The ceiling of his bunk swims into focus, rivets and scratched metal plates he knows like the back of his hand. He blinks at it a long time before he realizes what it is, before he recognizes it.

He’s home. He’s home, and he’s awake. He doesn’t know how long he was gone, but his body aches the way it does when he’s slept too much. Still, his fingers twitch when he wants them to. That’s good.

“Wes?” he calls, or tries to. It comes out a hoarse, garbled croak. But someone leans over him, and Travis’s heart leaps, until he recognizes the dark hair and white coat.

“Travis.” Jonelle frowns, moves a finger in front of his eyes. Travis follows it for a second, until he gets dizzy and looks back at her.

To his horror, she’s got tears in her eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, voice wavering, “so don’t—don’t go anywhere.” He can hear her running to the hall, shouting loud enough to be heard through the whole ship. “Captain, he’s awake! Travis is awake!”

\---

“We found you locked in a storage room,” the captain explains a few days later, when Travis can sit up on his own and won’t drop off to sleep in the middle of a conversation. “You were catatonic, completely unresponsive. Jonelle couldn’t figure out why. A few hours later, you slipped into a coma, and you’ve been that way ever since.”

“How long?”

“Almost a month. We’re on Calliope right now.” The captain leans forward, brow creased. “Do you remember anything?”

Travis tells him about the battle, about Wes and the aliens and spinning through space with nothing holding him back.

He’s not so out of it that he doesn’t realize something is wrong; the captain is watching in with increasing worry, not a glimmer of recognition on his face. Travis stops talking, a cold knot forming in his chest.

“Cap?” he licks his suddenly dry lips. “Where’s Wes?”

The captain just looks more worried. “Who?”

\---

_“We have to sever all ties, completely.”_

No one remembers Wes. The crew has no idea what he’s talking about, and it only takes a few questions before they’re running off to find Jonelle. Kendall indulges him enough to do a search, but Wes Mitchell doesn’t pop up in any database. It’s like he never existed at all.

Or like a certain telepathic someone went through and erased all signs of his existence completely.

(And, he finds, when he goes back a few days later and asks again, they don’t even remember him asking about Wes the first time. Wes is _gone_, continuously erased from their memories. Travis…Travis doesn’t get that luxury.)

When he’s strong enough, he goes to Wes’s bunk. It’s empty, of course, bed stripped and walls bare. Which doesn’t mean anything—Wes never slept, and Travis never noticed him hang anything up on the walls in the first place. He sits on the edge of the bed and sighs.

“If you wanted to break up with me, man, there are better ways. This is kind of a dick move.”

As jokes go, it sucks, and it falls flat in the empty room.

Memories aren’t the only thing Wes took. Travis isn’t psychic anymore—his mind stays stuck in his own head, no matter how hard he tries to get out. Jonelle says it’s because of the coma and whatever caused it, but Travis knows better. Wes took his ability, to protect him or heal him or god knows what else. It’s not exactly like Travis can ask him.

He doesn’t know if he kept his memories in exchange for his abilities, or if it’s just a side effect of his specialness, but he almost wishes he’d forgotten too. He feels the ache where Wes should be like a gaping hole in his chest.

\---

“Cap says we should leave soon,” Kendall says happily, picking up a strawberry and turning it, looking for spots.

“Good.” Travis passes over a few coins and they get a basket of strawberries. “We’ve been planetside for way too long.”

She gives him a friendly elbow in the ribs. “We’ve only been here so long because _someone_ got injured and needed to recuperate.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, but we need to _fly_.”

“Well,” Kendall says as they leave the market with their haul, heading back for the port. “That should be soon enough. You’re almost completely healed up, and I heard Cap say he was gonna interview a pilot today.”

“Sweet. I can’t wait to get off this rock.” They round the corner, and their ship comes into view. Cap can be seen standing at the top of the gangplank, shaking hands with—

Travis drops his bags.

“Travis, Kendall,” the captain beams, hold out a hand. “Meet our new pilot.”

Travis stares at Wes and can’t decide if he wants to punch him or kiss him. Wes stares evenly back at him, face calm but eyes dancing. For a moment, Travis swears he can see stars.

“ ’Scuse us.” Travis strides up the gangplank, grabs Wes’s arm, and hauls him inside. “I need to have a word with our new pilot.” Leaving behind two bemused crewmembers, Travis drags Wes to the bridge, empty now because they’re planetside and no one just hangs out in the bridge if they don’t have to.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Wes’s composure cracks, and he looks a little uncertain. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I am! That’s not—!” Travis runs his hands over his face. “I’m glad you’re here, and tonight we are gonna _totally_ celebrate. But why are you here? I thought you went back to your space city.”

“It’s not—”

“You know what I mean!”

Wes nods, leaning against the wall. “Yeah, I know.” He crosses his arms, studying the floor. “It was determined that those of us who had been among you were…contaminated, for lack of a better word. After what happened, it was decided that we would be…not _exiled_, but not welcomed either. They don’t want even the slightest chance that we could bring the same problems to our people.”

There’s not a lot Travis can say to that. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Wes gives him a small smile. “We knew there would be risks doing this. And honestly, now that I’ve experienced your world and the way you feel things, I don’t want to go back.” His smile turns shy. “I’d rather be with you.”

Travis crosses the bridge in two steps and pulls Wes close, holding him tightly. “I missed you,” he murmurs, “I’m so glad you came back.”

He can’t reach out with his mind, can’t spin in the galaxies in Wes’s head anymore, but simply being able to hold Wes is enough. The stars align, and everything falls into place once more.

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is... I’m not quite sure _what_ this one is. It’s a little weird. But when inspiration hits, I am not going to complain, so here you are.


End file.
